


straw, introduced to camel's back

by holdmyhammer (longbottomed)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Confessions, Domestic, Fluff, Humor, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 16:17:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17728589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longbottomed/pseuds/holdmyhammer
Summary: Thor slurps his coffee. Tony wants to sink into the couch. His hands are cramping around the tablet.“Do you want to talk about it?” Thor says, eventually. Finally. After an eternity. The tablet's casing protests beneath the abuse. Tony lets go.“Nope,” he says.





	straw, introduced to camel's back

So, here's the thing.

There's a list. A long list. Not a written one—perish the fucking thought—but one in Tony's mind. The list has one-hundred-thirty-six entries and Tony knows all of them by heart. Because he's a genius, d'uh. (Not because he goes through them every time he tries to go to sleep without working himself to exhaustion, not because this is the place his mind goes to when he doesn't distract it with The Next Big Thing™.)

There's a list. The List, really, capitals and all.

And this, this right here, didn't make it on place one. Not even place one-hunded-thirty-five. It wasn't even on the list before it happened, because this scenario should be nowhere near The List, shouldn't exist in the same realm, the same universe.

But life hates Tony, and Tony hates life. Sometimes. Now. Right now. Somebody kill him please.

The thing is, y'know, because this right now has never made The List, there was no way Tony could have been prepared. There's _no way_ he could have prepared himself for Thor shuffling into the room, in the middle of the night, like, like. That.

Thor isn't naked (entry no. 1), or even topless (no. 3). He's wearing a tee shirt that's big enough to fit the Hulk, but still somehow manages to stretch around Thor's biceps (no. 24). There's not much naked skin, apart from Thor's forearms. Which have made it to entry no. 57 only because Thor shows them off more often than not and Tony's built a bit of a resistance.

It's a respectable time somewhere on the planet, Tony's lounging on the couch, tablet across his thighs, cup of coffee in his right hand, poring over something Stark Industries-related because Pepper's managed to bully him into actually working for once.

He doesn't hear Thor at first, because Thor is barefoot. ( _Barefoot!_ ) Mighty God of Thunder dressed in ratty pyjama pants and a too-large tee shuffling barefoot through Tony's living room towards the kitchen. He looks sleepy, hair tousled, eye small. On his slow way towards the coffee maker he drags a hand through his short hair, making it even messier, strands standing up every which way. He scratches and then kneads the back of his neck before letting his hand drop back to his side. Finally having reached the coffee maker, he pushes his mug (huge, hot pink plastic, sparkly golden lettering spelling: “Another!” in cursive—Tony thinks himself hilarious) underneath the nozzle and stabs at the buttons until the machine splutters to life.

Thor yawns without covering his mouth, props his arms up on the counter while he waits. Having shifted his weight onto the right leg, he raises his left foot and scratches his instep against the back of his heel.

That's what breaks Tony. Not, as expected and written out into a 135 points long list, the things Tony's been trying to avoid since Thor literally dropped from the sky right into Tony's life.

This ridiculous, tooth-achingly sweet, disgustingly domestic situation should never have made the list, not when Thor is fifteen feet of perfect, forged-in-a-dying-star muscle. Tony wants to scream.

Thor turns, settles one hip against the counter, hands wrapped around his pink monstrosity of a mug. Maybe, Tony thinks desperately, maybe he didn't hear Tony speak over the sound of the coffee maker. Maybe. Hopefully.

Tony clears his throat, rubs a hand over his mouth. As if he could stuff the words back down his throat like that. He looks down, back at the tablet and does his best not to squirm beneath Thor's scrutiny.

Thor slurps his coffee. Tony wants to sink into the couch. His hands are cramping around the tablet.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Thor says, eventually. Finally. After an eternity. The tablet's casing protests beneath the abuse. Tony lets go.

“Nope,” he says. And he's still not looking. Doesn't dare to move, doesn't dare to turn his head.

“Alright,” Thor says after another pause. He leaves and Tony wants to shoot himself.

 

Despite his desperate and constant wishes for spontaneous combustion, Tony's still alive twenty-three hours later. According to FRIDAY, he's been awake for seventy-five hours and a bit, but FRIDAY is a stupid AI and doesn't know what she's talking about. Seventy-five hours is far from Tony's record. He's built stuff on less sleep.

Nothing useful. Or _usable_ , come to think of it, but he's not splitting hairs.

Pressed flush against the wall, Tony peeks around the door frame into the kitchen. It's empty, dark. So far, so good.

“FRIDAY,” he whispers.

“Yes, boss,” comes the reply over the speakers. Tony grimaces, makes a cutting motion across his throat.

“Shhh,” he says. “Shhhhhh.”

“Boss--”

“Sh! Mute! Bad FRIDAY! Shhhhh!”

Tony waits, listens for any noise. Everything remains silent. Thank fuck.

He just wants some coffee, god damn it. Tony sighs, presses the heels of his hands over his eyes. Just his luck that the workshop's coffee maker would break nine hours into his exile. 'Course, Tony's a genius, he can fix it. But he didn't have the right parts, and when he'd tried to make do with scraps, the thing had blown up in his face. One fire extinguisher shower (courtesy of Dum-E), and a proper shower later, Tony had tried sleeping on the lumpy couch down in his shop. Had been a great idea up until he'd actually lain down. Then it had turned into a fucking terrible one.

“Yeah, not doing that,” he'd said as soon as he'd closed his eyes and found himself immediately back in the kitchen with Thor indulging in domesticity. So sleeping was out of the question. Staying awake without caffeine, on the other hand, turned out to be a lot harder than all those health magazines had promised.

That brings him to the here and now, creeping through the halls of his own house like a fugitive. He peeks into the kitchen once more, finds it still vacant.

“Alright, Tony. Remember your training.” He doesn't know which training he means, but whatever. He sneaks quickly across the room towards the kitchen island, ducks behind it. Pops his head over the counter to sneak a peek. So close to salvation.

He just needs to--

“Tony?”

The light flicks on and Tony startles, slips and bangs his chin against the counter. “Ow.”

He blinks against the tears, rubs a hand over his abused jaw. Damn it.

A pair of feet enter his line of vision. Big, bare feet.

“What are you doing?” Thor asks and crouches down. He looks somewhat confused.

“Nothing,” Tony says, rubs his forehead with one hand and uses the other to wave Thor off. “Just. Chillin'.”

“On the kitchen floor,” Thor says.

“Yeah,” Tony says. Even to him it sounds stupid. But go big or go home.

One corner of Thor's mouth quirks up. “And here I thought you were on some kind of secret mission.” He gestures at room in general. “Sneaking through the halls towards the kitchen.”

“Training!” Tony clears his throat, nods quickly and knocks his head against the counter's side. Damn it.

Thor's brows furrow. “That had to hurt.”

“Psssh,” Tony says. “That was nothing.”

Thor's hand clapping down on his shoulder makes him rock forward. “I think you should sleep.”

“Psssh,” Tony says. Again. “I'm only on hour seventy-six right now. I'm on a roll, baby!”

“Mr. Stark is approaching seventy-seven hours without sleep, Thor,” FRIDAY chimes in, the god-damned traitor.

“She's exaggerating. It's more like seventy-four. Five, tops.”

Thor holds up a hand, shakes his head. “I stopped listening at seventy hours without sleep.” His hand slips from Tony's shoulder to wrap around his forearm. “You, my friend, are going to bed.”

“Seventy-five, hey!” Thor pulls him up and across his shoulders in a fireman's carry. Under normal circumstances, Tony might consider the manhandling hot, but currently he can't help but feel a bit undignified. Also: Thor's so close, he can smell him and it's doing weird things to Tony. “Put me down. I don't need sleep.”

“Truly spoken like someone in desperate need of sleep,” Thor says. Tony considers hitting Thor's back, but with the way he's built chances are Tony'd be the one left hurting instead of the other way around. Damn it. Life hates him.

“In you go,” Thor says, settling Tony down on the bed with more care than he'd expected.

“You're not my mom,” Tony tells him while Thor tugs the duvet over him. Thor laughs.

“That much is true. But that doesn't mean I care any less for you.” He ruffles Tony's hair. His hand lingers on Tony's forehead. “Now sleep.” Tony's already beginning to lose the fight against the weight of his eyelids. Still.

“No,” Tony says, because he's actually five years old.

Thor's chuckle follows him into sleep.

 

Despite his antics, Tony is a grown man. An actual adult. He can deal. He's just going to power walk into the kitchen, make himself a coffee, power walk into his workshop, out the other side and right into oncoming traffic.

Jesus, that took a dark turn.

Alright. Focus. He can do this.

“Good day, boss,” FRIDAY greets as soon as Tony steps into the kitchen. Traitor.

Thor turns towards him, smile as blinding as a thousand suns. Tony's knees want to buckle.

“'Morning,” he says and shuffles a few feet into the room.

“Good morning,” Thor rumbles, nodding towards the kitchen island. “Sit, I have prepared fast for us to break.” He's so stupidly adorable Tony actually wants to cry. God, but he's a weak man.“I trust you have slept well.”

“Yeah.” Tony clears his throat, climbs onto one of the ridiculously high and uncomfortable, yet fashionable designer bar stools. “Thanks. For,” he grasps for words, comes up short and finishes with, “that.”

Thor beams, two-thousand suns. “It was my pleasure. Now eat.” He puts down a heaped plate in front of Tony, who only now realizes he's actually famished. Once again, Pepper was right when she told him wasabi peanuts are no proper means of sustenance. Thor puts down a cup of coffee next to Tony's plate, because he's too pure for this world. Tony revisits the urge to weep in happiness and hides behind his coffee.

Own plate full of pop-tarts, Thor sits down across from Tony. They eat in silence, and Tony decides that this whole acting like an adult thing isn't actually that bad. Of course that's when life reminds him that nothing has changed and he's still on its shit-list.

“Now that you have slept,” Thor says, “are you willing to talk?”

Tony chokes on a bite of toast. He tries not to spew half-chewed crumbs all over his food while also avoiding asphyxiation. Which must have resulted in him turning a worrying shade of red, because Thor literally leaps over the counter to give his back a few hard slaps. That's going to bruise later, Tony has time to think, before he does end up spraying toast-mush all over his breakfast.

Great. Then again, Thor's question has made quick work of his appetite anyway. Fight or flight response triggered, Tony chooses the latter. Sliding off his stool, he mumbles only parts of an excuse and makes for the door.

He doesn't even get to take a step before Thor's hand on his chest stops him.

“Um,” Tony says.

Thor pushes him back until his back catches against the kitchen island. Thor's hand slides along Tony's arm towards the counter and he steps in front of Tony, bracketing him in with his two gigantic arms.

“Um,” Tony says again, louder. Leans back as Thor comes closer, until he's almost lying on the food. This position is hell on his core muscles, and this time, it sounds far more urgent, “um!”

“I have waited,” Thor says, “because it is the proper thing to do. But I cannot stand it any longer. You are maddening.”

“Sorry?” Tony asks, elbow digging into something squishy. He grimaces. Thor shakes his head. He's so close now, Tony can make out the pattern in his remaining iris.

“I do not understand you,” Thor goes on. “You confess, perhaps by accident--”

“Definitely! Definitely by accident.”

“--but instead of owning up to your words, you hide in your workshop like a scared child! Even when I asked Lady Friday to break your coffee machine--”

“That was you?” Tony demands, momentarily forgetting his confusion over the absolute affront. “And FRIDAY, you helped?!”

“Actually,” FRIDAY says, “U broke the machine. I sent the command, however.”

“My own creations are turning against me,” Tony laments, then stabs a finger at the ceiling. Harder than one might think, with Thor still hovering over him. “We're going to have words later, young lady!”

“Oh, leave the robots be. How else was I supposed to talk to you?” Thor asks. “There is enough coffee and green spicy nuts down there to sustain you for a week, I could not wait that long.”

Tony frowns, cocks his head to the side. “For what?”

“For--” Thor cuts himself off, looks to the side. There are blotches of red high on his cheekbone beneath the eye patch. Tony's never seen that on Thor before. Huh. “For you to come and hear my response.”

Tony's heart does a somersault. Not a pleasant feeling, but Tony doesn't quite care. There's something like hope gnawing at the edges of his reason, playing Thor's words on a loop, dragging his gaze back to the flush on his cheeks, his bobbing Adam's apple when he swallows.

“Alright,” Tony says, wets his lips. “Tell me then.”

“I--” Thor takes a deep breath, one-eyed gaze flicking over Tony's face. From his eyes to his lips. Back again. “I would much rather show you,” he says.

“Woah, hey!” Thor wraps an arm around Tony's shoulders, pulls him in. Tony flails, clutches the first thing in reach, which turns out to be one of those gigantic biceps (well, _hello_ ) and--

Doesn't do much else, because Thor is kissing him.

That.

Wow.

Tony doesn't dare blink, scared Thor might vanish if he does. Thor's eye is closed, his lips press against Tony's, sure, demanding. And Tony is ready, oh so ready, to give in to those demands. Mouth falling open, lips parting, Thor surges forward, soft tongue lapping at Tony's bottom lip before pushing inside. Tony makes an embarrassing noise in the back of his throat and Thor chuckles, arm tightening around Tony's shoulders. Always confident, Thor hikes up Tony's shirt at the small of his back, hand spreading there, fingers slipping under the elastic of Tony's sweats.

It makes Tony flinch and gasp into Thor's mouth.

“Alright, okay, slow down,” he says against Thor's lips, tries to push Thor back. All that accomplishes is him straining his neck. Thor frowns.

“Is this not what you wanted when you confessed your lo--”

“Nuh-uh-uh!” Tony squeezes his eyes shut. “Don't say it, please.”

“I do not understand.”

When Tony chances a glance, Thor looks genuinely confused, so Tony tries for a smile. It's not that hard with the way he can feel Thor's hard body pressed against his own, really. The thought makes him giddy. Maybe his time on life's shit-list is finally over.

“Tony,” Thor says when Tony giggles.

“Sorry,” Tony says, fighting the giggles and failing miserably. “I mean, don't say it. Yet. I need--” He shrugs. “A bit more time?”

Tony grimaces, looks at the wall over Thor's shoulder. “I just.” A deep sigh. Go big or go home, he guesses. “Listen, the last time I said the L-word to someone it didn't. Go well? Except for when I told you. I mean, this. This is going well, very well, in fact.”

Thor smiles. “I am glad.”

Tony's heart. More somersaults. Shit. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, me too.” Clears his throat. His hand runs up and down Thor's upper arm, along all that steely muscle. Damn.

“Now,” he says, “why don't you go ahead and do some more of that showing, yeah?”

Thor smiles, three thousand suns and some debauchery.

“I think I can do that,” he says and ducks down to capture Tony's lips in another kiss.


End file.
